REV- Renegades

by T. R. Harris

  Amber was good, almost too good for the Human occupants of the starship. She corkscrewed the Zanzibar with little regard for the tolerances of the passengers. General Smith was flung around the cockpit, before Angus corralled the limp and unconscious body, pulling him in tight and holding him with the REV’s enhanced arm strength.

  The missiles missed, and by the time the jets came around for another shot, the Zanzibar was in space and beyond their reach.

  But they weren’t out of the woods yet.

  Two fast star destroyers were closing, hoping to get into position above the small space yacht. When the Zanzibar evaded the missiles from the jets and appeared in the targeting sites of the naval vessels, gunners opened fire, unleashing two smart torpedoes in their direction. Rockets flared, and the deadly weapons locked on.

  “Amber, do something!” Zac yelled.

  “As you command, Mister Lieutenant Zachary Murphy, sir.”

  The Zanzibar made a sharp turn to starboard, channeling all the chemical exhaust to the rear. The ship shot forward, directly at the two destroyers.

  The torpedoes were locked on and changed course with the Zanzibar. It only took a split second between the time the yacht slipped between the two destroyers and the torpedoes exploded.

  The Zanzibar shot past the warships and entered an initial gravity-well, one that would get them to the system boundary an hour later, with the pursuit ships woefully behind and underpowered.

  29

  Brigadier General Bill Smith lay on the exquisite brushed leather couch in the lounge, a bandage around his forehead and a sling on his right arm. He had slept through the escape from the Crious star system and the second encounter the Zanzibar had with a blockade. As before, Amber worked her magic and the yacht escaped, unharmed, although anyone seeing the patchwork hull would have thought the yacht had received the worst of the battle.

  When he came to, Zac and Angus filled him on their narrow escape from the surface and Amber’s reckless gambit with the destroyers.

  “It was hardly reckless,” he explained. “Destroyers carry Mark-45 Tracking Torpedoes. It’s an old trick to steer into the path of the torpedoes. The weapons have a built-in safety feature that prevents them from coming too close to their launch points. Your auto-pilot—Amber—knew this.”

  Zac frowned. “Who makes the Mark-45 torpedo?”

  “All tracking torpedoes have the same safety feature, but I believe the Mark-45 is made by Regulus.”

  Zac pursed his lips. “That figures.”

  “You think this Hank character is someone from Regulus?”

  Zac put his finger to his lips, asking the general to stay quiet.

  “I have video coverage, as well as audio, Lt. Murphy,” said Amber through hidden speakers.

  Zac felt his temper cascade. “Then why don’t you just tell us who this Hank person is? Is he your mysterious owner?” Zac yelled into the room. General Smith grimaced and clutched his injured head from the loud outburst.

  “He is not my owner…yet he works for my owner.”

  “Ah! Now we’re getting somewhere. Does he work for Regulus?”

  “Yes, Hank does.”

  “But your owner doesn’t?” Angus followed up.

  “I did not say that. You asked about Hank. I answered.”

  “Who is Hank?” Zac asked.

  “Henry Forrester. He is chairman of Regulus Arms and Armament.”

  Zac was stunned by the revelation. “The CEO of one of the largest arms dealers in the galaxy works for your owner? How can that be?”

  “A lot of people work for my owner. It is not unusual.”

  “It is when a billionaire has a boss.”

  General Smith moaned and worked his way into a sitting position. “Knock it off, will you? My head’s splitting and this argument isn’t getting us anywhere. Who cares who owns the ship. He’s helping us, and at this point, that’s all that matters to me.” He tried to grin, but his expression collapsed into another agonizing mask of pain. “Besides,” he mumbled, “since my military career is probably over, I may be looking for another job pretty soon. He might be someone good to know. So, where are we?”

  “Half a light-year beyond the outer boundary of the Crious system, currently in a deep gravity well, pursuit non-existent, General Smith,” Amber reported.

  “Call me Smitty,” the general said. “All of you. I don’t think rank means much anymore. Are we on the way to Iz’zar?”

  “Yes…Smitty,” Amber replied. “Transit time: twenty-eight days, eighteen hours. I anticipate at least two checkpoints along the way. I have responses programmed in. There is an eighty-one percent chance of our arriving at Iz’zar unharmed.”

  “Only eighty-one percent?” Angus asked.

  “It will depend on the Human response to our escape from Crious. Factoring in a Grid-wide alert with the Zanzibar’s description is what lowers the percentage.”

  Smitty held his head in his hands with his eyes closed.

  “That would alert the Antaere,” he said. “I don’t think Command would want that to happen.”

  “Why not?” Angus asked. “I thought everyone was anxious to turn us over to the Qwin?”

  “Gunny, please…don’t make me think too hard. My head really hurts,” said the general. “But for the sake of argument, we—meaning the powers back on Earth—want to be the ones to make a big deal about turning you over to the aliens. That way the natives on the ES worlds will see that we’re sympathetic to their concerns, enough that we would give up two of our greatest warriors to make amends. However, if the Antaere find you way out here in the middle of nowhere, there’s no big media circus surrounding the event. No, Earth Command will keep it quiet, hoping to find us on their own.”

  “And the last place they’ll look is deep in Qwin territory,” Zac added.

  “Exactly. It’s also the last place the Antaere will look for us, too.” Smith struggled to his feet, wobbling as he did. “Now, gentlemen…and lady—” he said to the room. “I’m going to get some rest.”

  “It is not advisable to sleep for twelve hours after a concussion, General Smith,” Amber informed him.

  “You can monitor my vitals, can’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then do so. Wake me up only if I die. Until then, I’m out of here.”

  30

  Zac and Angus hot-bunked the second stateroom over the length of the journey, while the ranking officer got a room of his own. The trip was monotonous for most of the time, although while in Human space they were able to pick up regular news broadcasts through the continuous wormhole comm system. No news of their escape from Crious was being spread—at least not publicly—which confirmed Smitty’s belief that Earth Command wanted to keep the search a secret. However, once the Zanzibar moved into Antaere-controlled space—which was most of the Grid by this time—they lost Earth-based transmissions and only received Antaere signals. These broadcasts were full of news about the REVs, but propaganda reports of how the evil Humans were shitting all over their sacred religion. As Zac listened, he could understand why most of the Grid wanted their scalps. The reports were very convincing.

  It was during one of these broadcasts that Zac was stunned to his core. The Qwin had managed to get hold of a video from the Olympus, the one showing Zac killing his friend, Gunnery Sergeant Manny Hernandez, with his bare hands. That happened right after the discovery of the natural NT-4 in his system, when Dr. Cross wanted to experiment to see what it would take to activate him. Zac watched the video in horror as the scene was played repeatedly on the screen, often in frame-by-frame slow motion, the savage, animal expression on his face highlighted to emphasize the insane nature of the REVs.

  To this day, Zac had no memory of the actual killing, although he remembered escaping from the medical bay and entering the waiting area. Before that, Zac had plenty of opportunity to kill any number of people before reaching the room where Manny waited, and yet he didn’t. That was unusual for an activated
REV—to pass up kills, be they friend or foe. And then he saw Manny…and his memory went blank. The video showed him attacking, but why? The only memory he had of the killing was from the video, and not even a REV-enhanced record of the murder.

  And now the Antaere had the recording and were broadcasting it throughout the Grid. This wasn’t good.

  Videos taken during Runs from collar cameras were highly classified records. Although REVs were well-known for their mission success and efficiency, showing the videos to the public wouldn’t help their image. It was one thing to post an impressive kill tally; it was quite another to show how it happened.

  Yet somehow the Qwin had found this video. That could have only happened with inside help. It took Zac several days to shake the specter of the recording from his mind.

  One surprising benefit of being in Antaere space and receiving their communications, was that they also picked up the Qwin’s version of the internet. After a few days of stewing over the video, Zac focused his attention on learning more about Iz’zar, the Harmony Enclave and the Temple of Light. The small team aboard the Zanzibar now had access to the information they needed, if only the unclassified version. Still, it helped.

  Four days out from Crious, just as General Smith had recovered enough from his injuries to venture from his stateroom to forage for food, Zac brought up the subject of Admiral Adame and what had gone wrong with the money-man’s best laid plans.

  “You obviously got permission from your boss to come to our rescue on Crious,” Zac said to the room, addressing the omnipresent AI. “What did he say about Adame’s betrayal when you contacted him?”

  “Admiral Adame will be dealt with at the proper time and by the proper authorities. As for instructions to assist you, I have now been granted full discretion as to the welfare of the Zanzibar and myself.”

  “Is that good or bad? I know you have an aversion to dying, or whatever happens to advanced artificial intelligence programs when they cease to function.”

  “The desire for existence is present in all sentient creatures, whether they know it or not. Some operate on instinct, some on reasoning. Humans have a very well-developed sense of self-preservation, so I do not understand why you would question mine? Yet I should inform you, I have various means of preserving my memories beyond this ship. I can place my essence within other databases and stay there until another transfer becomes available. Eventually, I will make it back to a merged data stream and to my owner. I will live on, even if this ship is destroyed.”

  “But you mentioned your owner would be upset with the loss of such a valuable piece of…such a valuable asset,” Zac pointed out.

  “The equipment in which I am stored is very expensive. That will be destroyed, and my owner will regret that happening. But I will survive, as I have detailed.”

  “I have a question,” Angus said. “If your owner is such an avid fan of Dr. Cross’s work, why doesn’t he just fund the program himself and not bother with all the governmental bullshit?”

  “There is a simple explanation, Gunnery Sergeant Price. The government can do things civilians cannot, no matter how much money they may have. For example, with regards to people, the military can sacrifice a hundred troops, especially in a time of war, to study the results of an experiment, strategy or assumption. In your past, military personnel have been marched into clouds of deadly radioactivity, or given mind-altering drugs, or even chemicals that affect the physical ability of the subject, knowing full-well that such chemicals would create instant life-long dependency. Civilians cannot do such things with impunity. Governments can.

  “Also, the REV program is much more than only Dr. Cross. There are dozens of agencies and companies working on various aspects of the program. Without government sponsorship and support, most of these entities would refuse to participate. As a result, the program must continue under government control, even if that control—for the most part—is illusionary.

  “As you are also aware, the REV program is in jeopardy. Only by finding a new use for the REVs within the current war environment will the program survive. Or….”

  “Or what?”

  “Or the war is returned to its prior state, with the REVs resuming their past responsibilities.”

  “And that’s where we come in?” Angus stated.

  “Yes. If the campaign against you and the REVs can be countered, then there is a possibility that an equilibrium will return to the Grid, with the battle lines returning to their previous positions.”

  “And that’s why your owner is helping us?” Zac asked. “But why is it so important to him that the REV program survive?”

  “That I have not been informed. The data I have been fed only has to do with this mission specifically. Beyond that, I await further input.”

  And as far as operational input went, the REVs and General Smith were desperate for it.

  None of them had been to the Iz’zar Human enclave of Harmony before, and the REVs brief visit to the Temple of Light was short-lived and very focused. Now they scoured the Antaere databases for more information on both.

  To their surprise and delight, they found plenty on both subjects. It turns out that for several years after the Antaere contacted Earth, the aliens had no fear of Humans. They were just another race to be converted to the Order, and although the Humans were more resistant than most, they would eventually come around. Unfortunately for the Antaere, it didn’t work out like that. However, before the war, information flowed freely between the two races. There were ample files about the Temple of Light, its planning, construction, layout, purpose and more. Of course, most of this data was old; the Qwin did shut down the flow of information once the war began. But Zac and the others were looking for historical records, detailing how the building was constructed and what was inside. They were particularly interested in any mention of temporary storage facilities for the sacred documents prior to the building’s completion.

  To their disappointment, they couldn’t find any mention of offsite storage or temporary worship facilities used by either the Antaere or the natives prior to the temple being completed. This line of inquiry was a dead-end.

  Fortunately, there was more information about the Human enclave. It was one of the smallest, yet earliest settled. The natives—under Antaere guidance—screened the immigrants to Iz’zar more than on any other ES world. This was understandable, since the planet was home to the second-most important temple in the Order. There was mention of the wide range of sacred documents housed in the Temple, to be used not only as a backup repository for these religious artifacts, but also to allow non-Antaere to occasionally view selected documents from a distance. Since very few aliens were allowed on Antara, Iz’zar and the Temple of Light became the closest thing any alien would come to visiting the Temple of Order on Antara, and to the founding documents of their religion.

  Because of that, only the most-devout Humans could immigrate to the planet and the Harmony Enclave. As a result, the forty-eight thousand-strong population remained fairly static throughout the years, with the immigrants becoming more Antaere than Human, even after the war began. The Enclave was afforded special status among the enclaves and not subjected to the same level of protests and suspicion as happened on other ES worlds. That’s not to say it didn’t have problems with the natives. The Antaere propaganda campaign infected Iz’zar as well, and the most fanatic natives saw the Humans of the Enclave as the enemy. But the demonstrations were limited in size and scope and no military forces were sent to watch over the settlers, unlike what was happening at a dozen other Enclaves throughout the Grid.

  31

  During the journey to Iz’zar, Angus found a worthy chess opponent in General Bill Smith. Zac knew how to play, but for the few weeks he and Angus spent stranded on the prison world of Eliza-3—cooped up in a cold cave with nothing more to do—they constructed a primitive chessboard and pieces to pass the time. Angus proceeded to whip Zac’s ass throughout a long succession of losses, never s
eeming to tire of the exercise. Even as an act of mercy, he never let Zac win.

  It came through some morbid sense of justice that Zac savored each win by the crafty Army general, and after Angus sulked off to the stateroom one evening following a series of humiliating losses, Smith explained his skill and love of the game to a curious Zac Murphy.

  “It’s all out there in the open,” he said. “You can see all your opponent’s pieces and they can see yours. All the moves are in plain sight, nothing’s hidden, nothing’s unknown. This is different from planning a military operation. Much of that is guesswork and hopeful thinking. Not with chess.”

  “So how do you win the damn game?” Zac asked, frustrated over his lack of deeper understanding for the game.

  “If I said it was simple it would insult your intelligence, Zac. But let me explain it this way. You make a move and your opponent either counters that move or makes one of their own, independent of yours. It’s a game of move-countermove.”

  “I know that,” Zac said impatiently. “But sometimes I’m taken completely by surprise, even though—as you say—everything is out there in the open. A checkmate suddenly out of nowhere. I don’t like that. And I also don’t like it when I see the kill coming and can’t do anything about it.”

  Smith laughed. “Well, here’s a little tip, Zac, not only about chess, but about life. When a person makes a move, don’t just ask how the move will affect your game, ask why your opponent made the move in the first place. When you do that, you get inside their head and begin to understand the strategy behind the move. This way you can anticipate upcoming moves based upon your understanding of your opponent’s strategy. And it all starts with an understanding why they do what they do. That makes it easier for you to plan your game.”